


What to Feel

by Scientia_Fantasia



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: First Dates, M/M, a little bit of internalized homophobia but just a bit, after 38 yrs of your life., because of a fuzzy cowboy., flirting with a stack of bricks, realizing youre gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-08
Updated: 2017-06-08
Packaged: 2018-11-11 11:01:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11147073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scientia_Fantasia/pseuds/Scientia_Fantasia
Summary: a Hanzo Emotional Journey sandwich. The bread is McHanzo.





	What to Feel

**Author's Note:**

> once again,
> 
> me: im gonna write some mchanzo
> 
> genji: hey whats up
> 
> me: ok i guess

The training facilities that Overwatch had at their disposal were like nothing he had ever seen before. Even if they were not, legally, allowed to occupy this base, the global community was becoming more willing to turn a blind eye to their operation, and the more technical-minded members of Overwatch had been working on restoration.

He knocked another arrow, pulling it back, and tracked one of the bird-sized bots circling overhead. When he released it, it struck dead center, and the bot gave a pitiful whine as it descended to the ground.

They were built sturdy enough not to break because of such a blow, of course. But the reaction did make the training a measure more satisfying.

He walked over and retrieved his arrow, the bot returning to its orbit after he did. As he searched out his next target, he heard the familiar jingle of spurs echo in from the doorway.

He let his arrow fly, and a second bot fell to the floor.

“You’re pretty handy with that bow.”

Hanzo turned, and found McCree leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, a kind of crooked smile on his face.

He frowned. If what he wanted was to share the training grounds, then he should simply have come in.

“...thank you,” he responded, not certain what else he should say. He went to retrieve his arrow, and McCree walked over, finding a stack of boxes to lean against instead.

“Wouldn’t be my first choice of weapon, but you can’t argue with results.”

“Hm,” he went. Then he turned to McCree, searching. His easy smile had changed to something different, though subtly. He seemed to be on his guard. “Is there something you need from me?”

“Oh. Well, I...” he glanced away, and then back again. “I was just wondering whether a handsome man like yourself would happen to be attached to anyone.”

Hanzo stared at him. It wasn’t the first time McCree had insisted on commenting on his appearance, but it was one of the more direct compliments.

And he wasn’t entirely certain what connotation “attached to” was meant to have. He had a guess. But he didn’t want to guess wrong.

“This is not my first language,” he reminded him. “Please speak more clearly.”

“Right. ‘Course.” He cleared his throat, expression now clearly nervous. “I just mean--do you have a girlfriend, or boyfriend, or...romantic partner, of any kind?”

“I don’t.”

“How do you feel about changing that?”

Oh.

His arrow began to slip from his grip, but thankfully he managed to catch it with only the slightest movement.

Apparently those comments about his appearance had a purpose.

“Are you...” He searched for the words. He had never had to say this in English before. “Asking me...to date you?”

“Well, I reckon I...yeah. Yeah, I am.”

Hanzo nodded, slowly, acknowledging rather than agreeing, eyebrows drawing together. He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to feel about this. He wasn’t sure how he _was_ feeling about this. He couldn’t, for one, imagine why McCree would be interested in him in this manner. Physical appearance was a matter of personal preference, certainly, but everything else...he hadn’t been what he would consider _friendly_.

In any case. Jesse McCree did not align with his preferences.

“Then I must decline,” he told the floor.

“Oh,” said McCree. “Well, I...figure...it was definitely worth asking. Uh...” He tilted his hat downwards, looking away. “See you around.”

He left, hanging his head, and Hanzo watched him disappear beyond the doorway.

He drew an arrow back once more, but something felt off. His focus had been interrupted, and apparently would not so easily return.

Very well. Perhaps he had done enough training for the day.

\-----

He was solely attracted to women, of course.

Wasn’t he?

Yes. Of course he was. He’d gone this far in his life without questioning that fact, therefore it must be true. If anything else were the case, he would have noticed by then.

...wouldn’t he?

He frowned at the dark ceiling of his quarters. It had been three days since McCree had approached him, and three days of the encounter being constant background noise for his thoughts. What was it that was bothering him about it? He’d been approached by plenty of people before, and had declined his fair share of them. He had never felt guilty about it.

He was not certain he was feeling ‘guilt’ at the current moment, either.

He rolled over for what seemed like the hundredth time that night, rubbing his eyes.

He had never questioned this before. But there were many things in his life he hadn’t questioned until these last few years, having always been told what to think by those around him.

He had always known he was going to marry for power, not for love, so it was never something he had sought out.

Could this be one of those things?

How would he know?

He rolled over once again.

He had never sought out women with the same fervour that Genji had, but then again, neither did anyone else he knew. It seemed to be one of his brother’s many...talents.

Genji.

His heart ached with the first clear emotion he had felt that night. He missed feeling like he had a brother, even if now he wondered whether they ever really were family. Ever were what a family _should_ be.

He missed it, and yet, it was something entirely in reach. He could ask Genji if he was willing to try and repair their relationship. Together.

He turned and looked at the clock on his nightstand, which unsurprisingly indicated the early hours of the morning.

He needed to sleep.

\-----

He did sleep. Technically. He wasn’t sure when it had finally happened, but he woke up to find that it was nearing midday.

He wasn’t anywhere near rested.

But he refused to sleep past noon.

He got up, groggy, and shuffled to the bathroom. The face that met him in the mirror was more unkempt than he preferred, but if he was going to shave, he would now have to go over the sides of his head, as well, and he didn’t quite trust himself with a razor in his current state.

He simply brushed his hair and pulled it up, away from his face.

Perhaps training would wake him up.

\-----

McCree was in the fitness center, of course, because that was how Hanzo’s week was going. However, it was a large room, so he simply skirted around the opposite edge of it, telling himself that he was not, of course, avoiding him, simply that this was the least obstructed path to the machine he wanted to use.

Fareeha was spotting McCree as he lifted weights. Though, she seemed to be enjoying it much more than he was. She was grinning and laughing, and though he couldn’t make out the exact words from where he was standing, he was fairly certain McCree was doing nothing but complaining.

Fareeha was, without a doubt, an attractive woman. He couldn’t imagine many people would disagree with that. But did that observation mean that he, himself, was attracted to her? Where did one draw the line between aesthetic appreciation and otherwise?

McCree, on the other hand, was...

An acquired taste, if one had it. He didn’t, as far as Hanzo could tell, put much effort into his appearance. His clothes were always dirty and he insisted on wearing that tattered hat everywhere. He was... _furry_.

And currently, he was drenched in sweat, propping himself up on his elbows and grimacing, hair plastered to his face.

Well, some of it. Now that he was more or less facing Hanzo, the hair clip above his forehead was readily apparent, his mane not long enough to properly pull back.

Still. A hair clip. That was an interesting choice. Though it was, admittedly...kind of...

McCree looked over, meeting his eyes across the room, and it was only then that Hanzo realized he had been staring. He turned away, hurriedly, before thinking, which soon became obvious as the motion caused him to run face-first into a piece of equipment he had been cowering behind, a protruding section rudely and painfully meeting his brow.

He stood there, eyes screwed shut, for a number of seconds, attempting to contain himself and neither curse nor submit to embarrassment.

That was going to bruise.

\-----

The next day saw him standing in front of Genji’s room.

He stared at the featureless door, hands clasped at his sides. He had convinced himself to come this far, there was no reason to not take the final step.

He took a deep breath, and knocked.

“Ah, I was wondering how long it would take you.”

He startled, and turned to look behind him, finding Genji leaning against the wall, arms crossed, mask impassive.

“How long have you--!” he started, scowling, but quickly caught himself, taking another breath. Anger was not how he wished to start out this interaction. “I...” he unclenched his fists. “I would like to talk to you, if you have the time.”

“I always have time for my honored older brother,” he said, the formality easily circling around to mockery. Genji stepped past him and opened the door, allowing Hanzo to follow him in. “What happened to your face?” he asked, laughter evident in his tone as he turned the lights up.

“I would rather not discuss it,” Hanzo muttered as he glanced around. Genji’s room was not what he would call cluttered, but it looked considerably more lived in than Hanzo’s did. The trinkets and decorations present throughout spoke of his brother’s lengthy travels.

He had changed much since they had last spoken to each other. Really spoken, in a way that did not involve trading blows.

“Alright. What _do_ you want to discuss?”

Genji sat down on his bed, and gestured at the chair across from him. Hanzo took a seat.

He was grateful for his brother’s apparent ease. It made his own uncertainty easier to bear.

“Lately, I...” he started, looking downwards. How was he supposed to say this?

And did he have the courage to do so?

“Something has been on my mind. It’s kept me awake multiple nights. But that is not exactly why I am here. I...it made me realize that I have no one left who I can confide in. It made me...” his voice caught, briefly. “It made me miss having a brother.”

He looked up, meeting only Genji’s blank mask.

“So,” he continued, as the silence stretched. “I would like to fix that, if I can. I...don’t know if I have ever been the brother I should have been. But I have the opportunity to change that, if you would let me. I want to try.”

Genji was still for another long moment, before reaching up and removing his mask, placing it on the bed. His eyes glistened, but squinted in a smile.

“I have waited a long time to hear you say that, brother.”

Hanzo’s shoulders fell as relief washed over him. He hadn’t been worried, exactly, that this new Genji would react negatively to his request--but that didn’t mean he was used to ready forgiveness yet.

“Thank you,” he said, staring at the floor.

“Perhaps I have missed having a brother, too.”

He nodded, with a sense of finality, and silence fell between them. There was much that needed to be said, but Hanzo was not sure he was ready for that yet. Just this conversation had been far outside his usual realm of comfort.

The bed squeaked as Genji abruptly fell over on it, propping his head up on his hand. “I am glad you came to talk with me about this. But I do admit I’m curious as to what’s been bothering you.”

He looked away, scowling. The change in subject was both a comfort and entirely unwanted. The tension in his and his brother’s relationship was well established, if largely unspoken until then. This... _other_ thing was not. And it was...base. And personal. And...ridiculous.

And it was, after all, the reason he had come searching out his brother in the first place. What was the point of asking to rebuild their trust in one another if he was not willing to trust Genji himself?

“Don’t make a joke about this,” he warned.

“You’ve come to me with sincerity,” Genji said, the light tone gone from his voice. “I am capable of responding in kind.”

“Hm,” he went. Then he frowned, trying to formulate what to say. He couldn’t help but feel that this was _wrong_.

And horrifically embarrassing.

He closed his eyes and sighed, frustrated with himself. Waiting was only making it worse.

“I’ve realized I’m attracted to men.”

He said it all at once, and then sat there for a moment before looking up at his brother.

Genji’s expression was...mildly surprised. “Hm,” he went, eyebrows raising. His eyes traveled around the room, too aimless to be doing anything but avoiding eye contact. “Hmm,” he went again.

“What.” He tried not to let his tone be too clipped with irritation.

“I, ah...” he tapped his chin, and then made a wide, careless gesture. “I don’t know how to phrase this; I thought you knew.”

Hanzo blinked.

“You thought I knew?” he repeated.

“Yes. As a man with similar inclinations, it seemed obvious. It made sense that you wouldn’t talk about it, our family being who they were. But I guess you...I guess that was not your intention.”

“No,” Hanzo said, slowly. _Was_ it obvious? Could something he didn’t know himself _be_ obvious?

He thought, perhaps, he should be irritated, but it was...comforting, in some way. So this wasn’t a new development. It was him realizing something that had been true all his life.

Genji laid down, and laughed briefly, crossing his hands behind his head. “It’s wonderful to hear my brother worrying about something so _normal_.”

“It is...admittedly unfamiliar.”

Genji suddenly sat up once again, crossing his legs. “Does this mean we finally get to stay up late together and talk about all of the boys we have crushes on?” he said, grinning. It was the closest thing to a joke he had made this entire conversation, and Hanzo was thankful for that--however, something in his expression (a furtive glance away, the twitch of his brow) must have betrayed more than he intended, because Genji’s smile quickly dropped.

“Do you,” he started, slowly, eyes wide with wonder, “ _like_ somebody, brother?”

His skin crawled at the sudden attention, and he scowled resolutely. Genji didn’t question him further, but did continue to sit there with an overtly delighted and expectant expression on his face.

There was nothing to be embarrassed by. But that fact, unfortunately, did not prevent anything.

“...McCree,” he admitted to the wall.

Genji pressed his hands together in front of his face, and his expression did not become any less delighted.

The back of Hanzo’s neck grew warm.

That was enough for today.

He stood up, crossing his arms.

“Goodbye, Genji.”

“Mhmmm,” his brother went, mischievously, nevertheless allowing him to walk to the door in peace.

Still. Hanzo could feel his eyes on the back of his neck.

He turned around, scowling, not able to make himself leave their conversation so open.

“ _What_.”

Genji moved his hands the smallest distance away from his face.

“You two suit each other.”

Hanzo shut the door.

\-----

It was, then, a full week later that Hanzo found McCree sitting on a couch in one of the common spaces, cleaning his gun while something played on the television.

It was a documentary about meerkats. He discovered this as he stood fifteen feet behind the couch, watching the TV rather than risking walking over.

A commercial break broke him out of his reverie. He frowned, irritated with his reluctance.

He took a step. And then another. And then another, until he was standing in front of the couch. He sat down, stiffly.

McCree glanced over at him.

“Hanzo,” he greeted, flatly.

“McCree.”

He returned to his task, and Hanzo watched his hands as they worked.

“You seem to clean that more often than you clean yourself.”

He regretted this comment the second it left his mouth, and even more so when McCree’s response was a dejected frown.

“Yeah, well. Old habits die hard, I guess.”

Hanzo huffed, and hung his head.

“I...apologize,” he said, swallowing his pride. “That is not how I meant to begin this conversation.”

McCree, thankfully, looked up with a genuine interest. Apparently his apology had been enough to repair the situation.

“Are we having a conversation?” he asked. “Well, take another stab at it, then.”

He nodded, gathering his thoughts. There were any number of ways he could phrase this, and most of them were things he didn’t wish to say. _I’ve been working through a lot of trauma and emotional suppression recently so sorry that I didn’t agree last week, but--_

No. That was not an option.

He decided on;

“I’ve been thinking about your offer.”

McCree stared at him.

“My offer?” he repeated. “You mean my asking you out?”

“Yes.”

The television chattered in the background.

“...and?”

He crossed his arms, sitting back, gaze settling somewhere around McCree’s shoes.

“Is it...too late to...reconsider?”

He glanced up to catch McCree’s expression. It began stunned, before a lopsided smile tugged at his mouth.

“Are you asking me out, Mr. Shimada?”

He fought back the flush crawling up his neck. “Yes.”

McCree laughed, quietly, shaking his head. Hanzo watched him, shoulders squaring as he felt the barest pull of affection in his chest.

“Well, I can’t hardly say no to that, can I?”

“I was hoping you wouldn’t.”

He laughed, again, and reached over to briefly place a hand on Hanzo’s shoulder. “My answer’s yes. On one condition.”

Hanzo frowned. “Which is?”

“You _gotta_ start calling me Jesse.”

“Oh,” he went. “Very well. Jesse.”

\-----

Their base was, necessarily, in an excluded area, therefore their options for a night out were limited. However, McCree-- _Jesse_ \--stated that the real purpose of a date was just to go somewhere quiet they could spend time together, so he wasn’t ‘gonna cry if we can’t swing a five-star italian place.’

Hanzo, a little self-consciously, said that if it was a quiet place they needed, he knew somewhere on the roof.

Jesse was thrilled by the idea.

So what they ended up doing was ‘packing lunch’ (Jesse’s words. If anything, it was a late dinner), using the kitchen to fix a simple meal of rice, chicken, and a few fried tomatoes (what he wouldn’t give for a better selection of vegetables), brewed a thermos of tea, made sure everything was in tight, non-breakable containers, and climbed to the roof.

Well. ‘Climbed to the roof’ was a simple enough phrase for how Hanzo usually got up there. Jesse was...not as experienced. But, with enough support, he finally made it, and they sat eating their meal as the sun creeped steadily towards the horizon.

Jesse laid back afterwards, setting his hat aside and watching the sky as the stars appeared.

Hanzo looked up, as well.

Out there, the stars were brilliant.

“So, uh,” Jesse started, breaking the silence. “Not to look a gift horse in the mouth, but what made you change your mind?”

“Ah,” went Hanzo. How to answer that. “I...have been told what to feel for much of my life. I am still discovering what it is to live beyond that guidance.” No. That wasn’t the right word. “That...command.”

“Hm...”

Jesse shifted, crossing one of his legs over the other.

“Alright. I got another question.”

“Yes?”

“I know it’s only the first date and all, but would you mind if I kissed you?”

Hanzo stared down at him, eyes wide. Jesse had the grace to look bashful about it.

He...shouldn’t. He _felt_ like he shouldn’t, though he was at a loss to put that feeling into words.

He couldn’t deny, however, that he had been curious.

Very curious.

He leaned down, placing a hand on Jesse’s jaw. On that completely unignorable beard. And it should have been strange, but it just felt...right.

He kissed him. Jesse kissed back. And when he leaned away again, Jesse was grinning up at him. He reached up and placed his hand over Hanzo’s.

Hanzo was...happy. He was very, obviously, happy, and he wasn’t entirely sure how to deal with that.

“Dunno if I was quite prepared for that,” Jesse said, playfully. “Any chance I could get a do-over?”

“Maybe...some other time,” Hanzo muttered. He didn’t know if he could take much more of this.

“Alright,” Jesse agreed, his smile only faltering so he could turn and place a kiss against Hanzo’s palm, instead. “Maybe some other time.”


End file.
